Hidden Wounds
by Lyllyn
Summary: After the battle on Amon Hen, Aragorn is captured by orcs, and must survive the consequences and find healing. First chapter is dark and somewhat AU.
1. Default Chapter Captive

Hidden Wounds

Author: Lyllyn

Warning: This story contains rape, although it is not graphic, as well as slash in a later chapter. If it will distress or offend you, please don't read it.

Feedback: Yes please. How else can I improve?

Archive: I'm honored, but please tell me where.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns it all. It's probably a good thing he can't see what we do with it.

Author's Note: I have read several Legolas stories where he is raped by anyone and everyone, then comforted by Aragorn. I wanted to explore a reverse of that scenario, keeping the protagonists as much in character as possible given the storyline. I hope you enjoy it, but I'd love to know either way. I also welcome any critique, nitpick, etc.

Thanks to my betareaders; MR, Joey, and Iocane. Much thanks also to AfterEver and Amanaishalez who did more than beta, they gave me wonderful encouragement and suggestions; and best of all, made me laugh.

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Aragorn woke uncertain. He was used to waking easily, knowing the risks of his surroundings, instantly alert. Now his senses were dull, as if he had drunk too much wine. Twigs and rocks pressed into his cheek, and his hands were caught under him, bound together by strong cord. He opened his eyes slowly and took in the details around him as Elrond's sons had taught him, years ago. His sword was gone and his knife sheath no longer hung at his belt. He could not tell if his spare knife still rested in his right boot, but the boots were still on his feet, so there was yet hope. 

He lay on the ground in the forest, and orcs, perhaps a score of them, moved among the trees and brush. He saw no other captives. His spare knife would be little use as things stood, and he would not be able to retrieve it unnoticed as long as his hands were tied and the orcs were alert. 

Why was he alive? They had taken Merry and Pippin first, carrying them off and leaving the rearguard to delay what remained of the company. He would have expected them to kill him as they had killed Boromir. They had made no special effort to take him alive, he had barely evaded several sword thrusts before the head blow from behind. It must be vengeance that the orc captain desired. 

What evil did the orcs plan for him? Perhaps they would wait until they reached Isengard before exacting retribution, giving him time to find a way to win free. If not, he had no doubt that it would go very ill for him. 

He continued to watch the camp; absorbing the placement of sentries, supplies, weapons. Two orcs sat nearby, probably guards. Of the others, the largest had a white hand badge and yellow eyes. He gave orders to many, and took them from none; he would be the captain, then. Two others appeared be in some lower position of authority, one with a fanged grin, the other with a foul, bloody cloth wrapped around his forearm. These three would be the most dangerous of the orc-band.

A guard loomed over him and prodded. Ai, the filthy tark is awake!' The large orc and his followers joined the two guards around him. One of the orcs kicked him contemptuously. 

"Why are we wasting time with this one, Urgat? Our orders were to kill all but the halflings."

"We will, Gorbaz; we will," said the one he had marked as the leader. "This one gave us much trouble and cost us many good fighters. He will repay that. He ought to be good sport for the journey."

Sport.

He had seen results of orc sport' and knew more of their delight in cruelty than most men in Middle-earth; more than any sane being would wish to know. He shivered, and called on his memories of escapes from other evil places. The scars on his body attested to previous trials of his skills of survival; he feared the ordeal ahead would test him as never before. For his own sake, for the sake of the young hobbits and his promise to Boromir, he must find a way to survive.

When it was full dark, Urgat shouted orders. Others cursed but moved to obey.

"On your feet" the orc nearest him snapped, "if you delay us you will regret it!" Aragorn managed to roll to his side despite the pain of his bruised ribs, and after several tries, to stand. When the orcs had picked up their packs and gathered into a mob, Gorbaz moved behind him and shoved. "Run!" He ran, sneaking glances at the stars occasionally to check direction.

Gorbaz used a whip frequently when he slowed or stumbled, and sometimes for no reason. The orc's eyes glittered as the lash curled around the man's legs or cut sharply across his bound arms or back. Aragorn ignored the thong as best he could, concentrating on staying upright. His thoughts strayed to Merry and Pippin; the image of their cheerful faces marked with pain and tears haunted him as he ran.

When the group stopped at dawn he was pushed to the ground and the sudden motion caused his head to spin. He clamped his mouth shut so as not to retch, and lay still as he waited for the pain and nausea to pass. After the orcs had fed, Gorbaz brought water and dry bread and dropped it beside him. "Waste of food." he sneered, "but you won't need it long." It was many minutes before Aragorn could force his bound hands down to pick it up and eat. 

He fell into an uneasy sleep, waking as he heard harsh voices around him.

"Not as pretty as an elf, but he may last longer," said one. 

"If he does, I'd find a use for him." said Gorbaz, lust in his voice.

"You'll have your chance to play. We shan't hurry the game. Today he's mine!" The orc captain growled. He turned and stalked toward his bound captive, with an evil laugh. "Ai! Now for the fun."

Aragorn braced himself for what would follow, hoping for the strength to endure.He knew not what Urgat intended, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. He could goad the creatures into killing him, and so escape; but he had not the right to abandon the others. He tried to hold fast to that thought as the leader came toward him.

He watched as a clawlike hand reached down to him, holding a dark, evil-looking dagger. Inwardly Aragorn shuddered, but kept himself still_. _The misshapen face bent to his and he smelled the orc's foul breath as Urgat's jagged blade sliced through the ties of his tunic and jerkin, scoring the skin beneath to leave lines beaded with blood. The yellow eyes above him feasted on the body thus exposed. The others gathered around and jeered as the cloth and leather parted. He fought to take deep breaths and master his fear. The knife moved on to the tie that held his breeches.

He saw lust in the captain's eyes, and understood it was lust for the pain of his body, more than for his body itself. Aragorn had known pain before, but here were cruelties worse than simple bodily pain, torments that threatened other paths to despair. Following in the ways of their dark master, the orcs would revel in breaking spirit as well as body. 

'You are the heir of Kings and of the strength of Westernesse. You must not fail those who depend on you.' He told himself that repeatedly through the pain and humiliation. Hate had had no place in his mind before, but now it colored his every thought. He caught himself imagining many painful ways to kill the creatures as he gritted his teeth. He would hold onto such dignity as he could. The sweat that poured from him and low grunts were the only signs of his ordeal, until the end. When the orc captain took his final pleasure, Aragorn's screams rang out in the clearing to the laughter of the watchers. 

Afterwards they turned away and so allowed him to clumsily tie up his garments as best he could. He counted it an unexpected mercy.

He lay amid the dirt, rocks and brush; nauseated and sweating with the aftermath of his torment. Every muscle screamed with rage, and the desire to kill churned in his belly. He found himself reflexively testing his bonds, as if knots could unravel by his will alone. 

He knew too well the tale of Celebrian, so poisoned in spirit from her brief captivity among the orcs that even the Lord Elrond had been unable to heal his beloved wife. She had left Middle-earth, sailing West and leaving the sorrow to Elrond, and the rage to Elladan and Elrohir. Aragorn had learned to kill orcs at the side of his foster brothers, but their path and purpose was not his. He reached within himself, damping down the torrent of anger that threatened to engulf him, and turned to thoughts of escape, weighing plans and chances.

The camp settled again, but no sleep came to Aragorn. He felt the eyes of the sentry, lingering greedily on him between glances at the forest. With nightfall he was once again prodded to his feet, the guards clapping and jeering at his struggle to stand. The running was harder this night, the agony of his earlier torment added to the sting of the whip. 

Despair loomed ever before him; this enemy, the most difficult to defeat. He looked up at the stars and desperately sought the comfort Legolas had always taken from them. Legolas and Gimli; did they still live? They had been high on Amon Hen, and had stayed to cover his back while he answered the summons of Boromir's horn. If they survived, had they followed Frodo and Sam to Mordor or did they follow the captives? It would have been a sore choice to make, and Aragorn was unsure which path he would have taken in their place. 

He could not even bear to think of Arwen now, ever a source of hope and comfort in the past. 

They ran through the stony hills and scrub, over rock and ravine. His arms and shoulders ached from the unchanging position of his tied hands. His back and buttocks burned with wounds and bruises. He was desperately weary, yet he feared the moment when the night would end, and the orcs would think again of their cruel games. He turned his thoughts away from his own fear and considered the hobbits. They faced the same and worse, he knew. And however brave and sturdy of spirit, their bodies were small and frail compared to his. How could they bear what might be happening even now? There was nothing to be done for them but endure, awaiting a chance for escape. And at his back there was only the laughter of Gorbaz as he muttered evil promises to his captive, and wielded the cruel whip like a blade. 

When he was flung to the ground at daybreak, he fought to steel himself to face the day ahead. As the grey morning mist thinned, Aragorn heard a sudden crackle in the brush on the far end of the encampment and his eyes swept the forest around him. The orc captain turned towards the noise.

"Shagrat, you and your lads go check that."

Shagrat snarled, but started for the area that had been disturbed; and four others followed, grumbling. When the brush stirred again, it was with the whistle of an arrow in flight.

An orc to the rear of the scouting group screeched and went down with a shaft in his back, and all the orcs turned, searching for the arrow's source. A knife landed on the ground near Aragorn's side. With arrows now falling amid the orcs he could roll enough to grasp the knife and push the rope against the blade, heedless of injury in his haste to free his hands. The captain turned back toward him and took a step as Aragorn rolled back and threw, piercing the orc through the neck with the blade. An echo of dark rage flared through him, and he tasted the sweet, poisonous satisfaction as Urgat died. He sprang to his feet, with his knife from his boot in his left hand, and scooped up the fallen captain's sword in his right. It was a heavy and clumsy weapon, but served to keep the few orcs near him from closing in.

Then Gimli was there, swinging his axe against those orcs left on the near side of the camp, the deadly rain of arrows forcing the scouting group further into the forest for cover. Aragorn backed up in step with Gimli, the crude orc blade slashing through the guards around them, turning to run only when the last orc fell to Gimli's axe. Together they ran past Legolas as the elf nocked and loosed arrows too quickly for the eye to follow. The archer retreated behind his two companions, ready to discourage any attempts at pursuit.

Gimli looked at him with concern as Aragorn gasped and stumbled over the uneven ground.

"We must move further away from their camp. Can you continue on, Aragorn?"

"I will go on." 

"I will ease you as I can when we reach a sheltered place. It is but a little way further," said Legolas.

He could no longer keep track of where their path led, but he kept moving. His steps had become slow and clumsy indeed, when Gimli and Legolas finally halted. He cast himself to the ground and closed his eyes in weariness as the others made camp around him. 

He felt a touch on his shoulder and began struggling, his hand lashing out. A strong hand caught his wrist, but simply held it, and the touch on his shoulder stayed gentle. When he opened his eyes he saw golden hair. "Be easy, Estel; it's Legolas." Aragorn sagged back to the ground in relief as the grip on his wrist was released. "You are safe now, drink and then rest." A slender, pale hand brought a cup to his lips. He drank thirstily of the cool clean water, then sank back into sleep.

When he woke again it was dark, and a small fire crackled in a hollow next to him. Sleep was gone, but exhaustion still claimed him; he lay still, unthinking. Gimli stood, scanning the hills around them, and Legolas lay unmoving close by. After some minutes the dwarf shook Legolas awake, whispered a few words and stretched out on the other side of the fire. The elf came to his feet in a single, swift motion; his eyes swept the forest as he paced about the small camp. He paused where Aragorn lay.

The man had become friends with the elf in Rivendell while waiting for Frodo to heal enough to attend council. He had found Legolas habitually reserved, though lighthearted and even impulsive at times. He was an enjoyable companion and a formidable warrior. How could he speak to him of this? He could not even speak of it to himself. Urgat was dead, and it solved nothing. The orc's death would not change what had happened; would neither heal wounds of his body, nor the bitter wounds within. He closed his eyes and lay as if still asleep.

"I know you do not sleep."

Aragorn pushed himself up wearily to sit leaning against a tree.

"Aragorn." The musical voice was soft. "You cannot turn away from this. It will follow you if you do not turn back and face it."

"I am alive. There is nothing to face." He turned his head to look blankly at the fire.

His face was gently caught and brought back toward the elf. Legolas held his gaze. "Is there not? I tended to your wounds as you slept, and they tell a tale of much ill use. Foul indeed was their treatment of you." Legolas caught the wince on Aragorn's face, and then another expression followed, replaced too quickly to read. "One of the Firstborn would have been dead and their spirit in the Halls of Mandos ere this. You have great courage and strength of spirit."

The man looked at the fair, luminous face and saw compassion, and still more precious to him, respect. "You know what was done." It was not a question.

"I have seen such once before, to my sorrow. He was a friend of my youth, taken by orcs. He did not survive. Although he had no killing wound, when we drove off the orcs his spirit had already fled." There was pain in Legolas' eyes. "I would not lose another friend to this evil."

"I will not die of this, though I may now wish I had." Aragorn said.

"That you will not die I am glad of. I, and the rest of the company, could ill afford to lose you, my friend." 

Legolas crouched by the fire and fished a small bundle out the coals with a stick. He scraped the charred leaf wrappings off the skinned rabbit and handed it to the man, along with a flask of water. Then, resuming his watchful position, he left Aragorn to the rabbit and his thoughts.

-------------------------

Tark' is an epithet used by the orcs for a Man of Numenorean descent, much as whiteskins' is used by the Uruk-hai for the Rohirrim. See RoTK The Tower of Cirith Ungol' chapter.


	2. Chase

Chapter 2 Chase

The wounds of Aragorn's body were healing. 

His head still ached from the blow that had felled him on Amon Hen, but the nausea had ceased. Bruises darkened the back of his body, from shoulder blades to calves. And the sharp pain on the side of his chest told of ribs bruised, probably cracked. Any incautious breath or turn reminded him of the recent ordeal. He knew the pain of his body would soon dull and fade, for he had seen its like before. And the other, deeper wounds? He would not think of those now. Time enough, he told himself, when the other captives were found. He stretched, reveling- despite the fierce jolt of pain- in unbound hands, and came to his feet.

Gimli lay sleeping. Legolas stood against a tree, watching the dawn over the hills. Legolas turned toward him, and smiled. 

"It is good to see you on your feet." 

"Yes." He hesitated. "I am in your debt, and that of Gimli." He looked around the small camp, and then back. "How long has it been?" he asked Legolas.

"It is a full day we have rested here. How is it with you now?"

"Well enough. I will travel today, if not as fast as I wish." Aragorn looked somber. "There is a group of orcs ahead of the ones that you attacked. That is the larger host which carried off Merry and Pippin. Boromir fell defending them. Alas! I came too late to save him, and when their rearguard came upon me, I had to leave him as he was."

"He lies there no longer. Gimli and I arrayed him as was fitting, and laid him in a boat, and let Rauros and the Anduin take him to the sea."

Aragorn was silent a moment and his face was etched with grief. When he looked up again he said, "I believe Frodo escaped and set off for Mordor. I do not know the whereabouts of Sam, but I fear the worst." 

"That fear I can relieve," Legolas replied, "for the footprints of two hobbits were where the missing boat had been moored, and Sam's pack was not on the shore with the others. From all the signs, Sam followed Frodo into the black lands. But you give me hope of Merry and Pippin. We had thought to find you and the young hobbits together. When we did not, I had grieved to think them dead, and I rejoice to know myself wrong."

"And I am glad to hear your news of Sam." Aragorn replied. "As to Merry and Pippin, they were alive when captured, and although the orcs have little enough care of their captives, they may live still. We must start after them."

Legolas nodded and went to Gimli, touching his shoulder to wake him. After a hasty meal they gathered up what gear they had, and Legolas took from the pile on the ground a scabbarded blade. 

"My sword? I can scarce believe it!" Aragorn cried.

"The orcs like not the feel of that which the elves have made. They cast away all such. You will be glad of that, for they left these also." Legolas held out a hand, and there was his knife with elvish runes on the blade, and, on a broken chain, the token of Arwen Evenstar. Aragorn looked long at the jewel, then wordlessly put it into the small cloth bag on the leather belt, both borrowed from Legolas. The silence was awkward at first, as they packed up camp. 

Legolas led them back to where they had departed from the orc trail. "There are the two groups now, both ahead of us. There were few left of the group that took you captive. I do not know if they have joined the others."

Aragorn took his accustomed place at the front, seeking signs of passage as the thinning forest gave way first to scrub and then to occasional patches of grass on the dry and stony hills. The others followed his lead, allowing him to set the pace as the companions made toward the ridge marking the end of Emyn Muil. 

Legolas spied the shapes first, at the foot of the slope that began the Western ridge. "Look!" Under the lowering sun, several orcs lay, sprawled lifeless on the ground. "Are there friends about? Folk who hunt orcs would be welcome allies." 

Aragorn shook his head. "I do not think that these died at the hands of any friends of ours. See, here are orcs from their rearguard; I have seen this one before. And their blades are stained with orc-blood. I think they caught up to the larger band, and were slain in a quarrel with the others. But I find no sign of the hobbits here."

Gimli pointed to the "S" rune on the shield of one slain orc who bore also the mark of a white hand. "We saw these signs on some orcs at Amon Hen. I guessed then that "S" stood for Sauron. If so, why did they not cross the Anduin?"

"Sauron does not use white," Aragorn replied, "nor has he used the elf runes since he revealed himself as the enemy of the elves, a long age ago." Aragorn searched the ground around the bodies for several feet. "Many footsteps, a large group of orcs, continued on West," he said thoughtfully. "I fear that the "S" is for the traitor Saruman, and that they make for Isengard." He pointed to faint marks disturbing the scattered tufts of coarse grass. "We can follow the trail for a few hours and perhaps cross the ridge while there is yet light for tracking." They set off once more in pursuit. Aragorn did not say that one of the dead orcs was Gorbaz; and that he was sorry to find him dead, for he had thought to slay that one himself; but relieved also that he need not fear the heat of his own vengeance.

The three hunters had descended from the escarpment that formed the East Wall of Rohan when Aragorn declared it too dark to continue. His pace had already slowed some way back, during the descent down a steep ravine, and his face now was pale and drawn. When he asked Gimli to wake him for the second watch, the dwarf gruffly told him to go to sleep and be glad that Legolas wasn't by the fire to hear his foolishness. He smiled, and protest died on his lips; he well knew that bravado could put all that remained of the fellowship at risk. He slept.

They rose at dawn and saw before them the plains of Rohan, covered with sweet, thick, grass, and smelling of growth and the promise of spring. Legolas breathed deeply. "The green smell! It lifts my heart, more than sleep or food." 

"And the long grass lifts my heart as well," Aragorn added, "for it makes the orcs easier to track on this flat plain. We can run faster without struggling through the stony hills. Let us go!" This day Aragorn could set as fast a pace as Gimli could keep.

To the others, Aragorn seemed driven and grim, grudging himself any rest. As he ran he could not keep his thoughts away from the young hobbits. His heart was chilled by images of Merry and Pippin being abused even as he had been. And, he thought guiltily, he had gotten off lightly, having been released after a single night of torment by only one of the foul band. Would worse befall his young friends? Could they survive such an attack by creatures so much larger than themselves? Each time he thought of them, still in pain and peril while he was free, he found his feet running faster while his heart pounded within his chest and his stomach clenched.

"Stay. Do not follow!" he cried, and ran along a small offshoot of the trampled path. He reached among the matted blades of grass and held aloft a shining green leaf shape, wrought of precious metal. 

"An elven brooch!" Gimli exclaimed.

"Yes," Aragorn said, "and here are the footprints of a hobbit. Pippin's, I think, from their size. Whatever has befallen them, Pippin at least is alive, and has the strength to run and the wits to leave a token. It is clear this was cast away from the trail, for any who might follow to find." 

"Let us hope he did not pay too dearly for his boldness," said Legolas.

"So we must hope. Let us run!" said Aragorn, and sprang forward. He was heartened to know the young hobbit alive, but concerned for what would come of Pippin's brave deed. And... what of Merry? Was he in like health? Aragorn now grudged every moment that kept him from discovering the hobbits, and avenging himself upon any who may have harmed them. Ever the fear of what ill treatment they might receive at the hands of the orcs burned within him. Surely Saruman would have forbidden his minions to harm such potentially valuable prizes? He prayed it was so.

The orc-trail they followed now turned Northwest toward the Entwash, glittering in the distance. They neared the river as the sun sank, and they stopped to take counsel of their course. 

"It is a hard choice," Aragorn said, as each ate a wafer of lembas. "We may go on in the dark and risk losing the trail, or we may rest the night here, and chance that the orcs may get further ahead, to the peril of our friends."

"Surely the orcs must rest as well?" asked Gimli.

"They will not stop at night," Legolas replied, "and I fear we may lose any chance to overtake them."

"Yet now I must rest to run the better on the morrow. It burns my heart to stop while Merry and Pippin are captive, but even the strongest of the dwarves must sleep," said Gimli.

"So be it," said Aragorn at last, with some regret. "We will not run in the dark, and chance going astray. I deem it the greater risk to find at daybreak that we must search again for the trail." They took a cold night's rest, which permitted Aragorn and Gimli only fitful sleep as Legolas kept watch. In the grey dawn they began their third day of pursuit, nearing the river and the dark forest beyond. Searching ahead, Aragorn saw the blur of motion that only Legolas' elven sight could separate into tall riders on proud horses.

"There are one hundred and five of them. They bear bright spears, and there are three horses with empty saddles," Legolas said. "I do not see the hobbits among them," he added sadly.

Aragorn's breath left him with a sigh, and he closed his eyes briefly. "We will await them here," he said.


	3. Rohan and Return

Thanks to all reviewers for the kind words, encouragements, and the criticism which helps me improve.  
  
  
  
Chapter 3 Rohan and Return  
  
  
The companions sat watching the great horses bear down upon them, but the Riders did not stop, or take any notice of the three figures sitting wearily in the grass. Aragorn came to his feet and called out, "What news do you bear, Riders of Rohan?"  
  
The Riders wheeled and encircled the companions, and the three stood pressed together in the center of a ring of spears. The leader rode closer yet to them, and his spear-point came to rest little more than six inches from Aragorn's breast, yet Aragorn did not move. And none but Aragorn knew the effort it took to keep himself still, and his hand from the sword at his side; though Legolas may have guessed.   
  
"Who are you, who crosses the Riddermark?" the Rider holding the leveled spear asked brusquely.  
"I am called Strider. I am hunting orcs."  
"Why should you track orcs across our land?" the Rider demanded.   
"The orcs of whom I speak hold two of my friends prisoner. I believe they go to Isengard," Aragorn replied steadily. "And what name shall I give to he who leads this éored?"  
The Rider looked at him with some wonder. "I am Éomer son of Éomund, and Third Marshall of the Riddermark. These are men of my household. It is clear you know somewhat of our land. But I do not know you, and you have yet to give me a right name!"   
"I have come out of Imladris, as it was called in past ages. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of Isildur, son of Elendil who sailed from Númenor." He stood stern and resolute, his bearing that of the kings of old. Wisdom and strength shone from his face, such that before him, Éomer and his riders felt as young boys playing at soldier. And Legolas looked at him in wonder for his majesty, and grieved for the pain that lay upon him.  
  
Awe was written upon the face of Éomer. "Imladris! Lord, it is as if you sprang from a legend! For Boromir of Gondor sought that land, sent by dark visions and dreams. Did he come there? Do you know aught of him?"  
"Yes," said Aragorn with sorrow in his eyes. "We traveled in company from Imladris through the perils of Moria and then on from the land of Lórien to Rauros. He was a man brave and valiant, but he fell there, slain by the orcs we pursue."   
"That is ill news for Gondor, and for all who stand with them!" said Éomer, dismayed. A murmur ran through the riders massed about him. "But you need pursue the orcs no more, for we slew all in battle at the edge of the forest two days ago, and the ashes of their carcasses lie smoking still."  
"And saw you none among them that were like to children of your kind?" Gimli asked, concerned. So high only," he held his hand at his chin, "beardless and barefoot?"   
"There were none but orcs that we found, some smaller, as those we have seen in the past, and some larger and more fell which bore the white hand. But there were no dwarves or boys among them," Éomer answered.  
"Our friends were halflings," said Gimli.  
"Halflings! In our land halflings are figures from old tales, and do not walk the green earth."  
"These halflings do indeed walk the earth, and we know one at least lived and walked on the plains beneath the East Wall, for we found a token, and his footprints," added Aragorn. "And I have seen no sign that any took a path away from that of the orc-band."  
"This is most strange, for we saw them not."   
"Yet you saw us only because I called out to you, and they were likewise garbed. Perhaps they escaped your riders in the night. My duty is to seek them."  
"But it is the law of Théoden, King of Rohan, that no stranger may come into the Mark save by his leave. You must come before him ere you continue," Eomer said.  
  
Aragorn looked at him directly, and his voice was not cold, yet none doubted the steel within. "I will not leave my companions to an evil fate while I yet have strength to search. They may be in need, or wandering about the forest, lost." And then he spoke a tongue that Gimli and Legolas knew not. "Éomer, Éomund's son, I have been in this land, years ago, and ridden with an Éored, and fought Rohan's enemies. What justice is the law of the Mark if it would ask that I abandon my friends, maybe to their death?"   
  
Éomer, hearing the tongue of Rohan, was abashed. He said, "I do not know how to choose, which choice would be for good or ill. I follow the King's law, but maybe it will not matter much now to my fate, or that of the Riddermark, which I shall choose. For the times are dark, and the counsel given to the King darker still, to my mind. And as I think Saruman has friends that do not dwell in Isengard, so perhaps Rohan may have friends, not all of whom dwell in Gondor." He straightened. "Very well. I will aid you, for though my life or fate may so be determined, yet I see no brighter hope than that you may bring, Lord. For indeed we have need of such! Seek your friends. Come then after to Edoras with your sword, and Gimli with his axe and Legolas with his bow; and I think it likely that we shall need your weapons raised alongside the sons of Eorl in battle before long."  
  
He gestured to another rider, and bid horses be brought for the travelers. "Here are Arod and Hasufel, and… "   
Gimli looked at the great horses, and planted his feet obstinately. "I will not ride. I prefer my own two feet to any beast with four."  
"Come," said Legolas with a smile, "do not trouble yourself, we shall ride together. One horse shall bear us both, and we will go more swiftly than any of us could afoot."   
Gimli was ill at ease, but suffered himself to be lifted to sit behind the Elf, and he clung there nervously. But Legolas sat easy, and the horse was quiet and biddable beneath his hands, and the companions rode on to follow the trail left by the Riders.  
  
The travelers came to the edge of the forest, and unable to find signs of what they sought in the dark, they made camp and set watch. The last watch fell to Gimli and he shivered in the early morning cold by the scant fire. The forest before him seemed looming and ominous, the air heavy with foreboding, so that he was glad to see the dawn, and to have his companions awake beside him. As Aragorn searched the ground for any trace of the hobbits, the three hunters saw suddenly appear from among the trees a man bent with age, and in ragged grey robes. What manner of creature was this, so silent that not even Legolas could hear his footsteps? Gimli grasped his axe and cried, "There is something uncanny here, to escape the sharp eyes and keen ears of an elf!" Legolas had strung his bow, and fitted an arrow to the string, and Aragorn loosened his sword in its scabbard. Yet within his heart was not fear, but rather the hush that awaits some momentous event.   
  
They watched intently as the old man approached, face shadowed by the hood he wore. "What do you seek, father?" asked Aragorn. The figure now stood straight and tall and imposing; and when the grey rags parted, flashes of white gleamed from him. "An elf, a dwarf and a man...What do you here, I wonder?" he asked as he walked toward them. "But then, perhaps I know some of your tale already." His hood fell back, and his gaze was like a blade, cutting to the heart of them. As Gimli raised his axe, and Aragorn gripped his sword, the grey rags of the wanderer fell away and he raised his staff and seemed clothed in the living light. When he smiled, there was no longer a question who stood before them. Out of all expectation, beyond all hope, Gandalf had returned.   
  
He was revealed as a being of light, briefly shining with radiance and raw power that burned in their eyes before he cloaked himself again. And though the light was veiled, there shimmered still about him a brightness and an air of power, and there was wisdom in his eyes.   
"Gandalf! This cannot be!" Aragorn said with disbelief in his voice. Legolas let fall his bow, and Gimli dropped to his knees in awe.   
  
"How is it that you return to us? How did you escape from the abyss and the Balrog?" asked Gimli.   
"And how came you here now?" Aragorn asked.  
"I cannot tell you all now, not if we had thrice the time to tarry," Gandalf said. "It was long that we fought, and the memory is very evil. I was marked by fire and and by ice, by darkness and by shadow, and wearied beyond words at the long chase and battle. In the end I prevailed and my enemy was cast down, and I wandered out of all knowledge of the world for a time. At last I was returned, and bid to abide until my task is done. In Lórien I was healed of my hurts, and clad in white, and now I am not Gandalf the Grey whom you knew, but Gandalf the White." He was silent for a moment, musing. "There is more, but the fuller tale must keep, for we must ride to Edoras swiftly. War will be upon us soon, and we must act while we may. Come!" He turned then, and gave a clear whistle and soon they heard the sound of hoofbeats. A great horse galloped toward the forest, his coat glimmering in the morning sun, and his head proud and fair. He slowed, and then trotted to where Gandalf stood, and whinnied.  
  
"But what of Merry and Pippin? I fear greatly for them, in the hands of the orcs. Those foul folk delight in cruelty and torment of their captives. Tell us news of them!" Aragorn urged.  
Gandalf's eyes upon him were wise and compassionate. "You need have no fear for the hobbits, unless it is a fear that they will wish to tell too long a tale when next you meet them," Gandalf laughed. "They are in the care of Treebeard among the ents of Fanghorn, and he will let no harm come to them." Legolas and Aragorn looked amazed, and Gimli was puzzled.   
Aragorn asked, "Then the old legends about the shepherds of trees are true, they live still?"   
"Yes indeed, they dwell as ever in the forest. The hobbits have brought tidings that roused the ents, and the ents will rouse the forest. But what they will do with their wrath, I do not know. I do not think they yet know either. But for Merry and Pippin, their road lies not with ours for a time; they have a different part to play. But be comforted, for they are well, and took no hurt."  
  
Aragorn was comforted, and some of his dread left him. He had had dark fears of what might have happened to his friends, visions of finding their battered bodies, cruelly tortured. He had despaired that the hobbits, so much less able to withstand, had been left to face that which he had escaped. Legolas and Gimli, equally heartened by these tidings, mounted and prepared to ride to Edoras.  
  
As they rode Gandalf fell silent for a time, then turned his piercing gaze on Aragorn.  
"I see that the shadow has touched you also," he said.   
Aragorn fixed his eyes ahead. "You see truly. Would that I could be renewed and sent back whole as you have been."   
"You must find your own way to healing, but I doubt not that you will."  
Gandalf said no more of this, and Aragorn was content to have silence on the matter.  
  
  
  
  
A/N: There will be 2 more chapters to finish this, probably posted as one a week for the next two weeks. There may be a short epilogue afterward.   
  



	4. Battle and Conflict

Chapter 4 Battle and Conflict  
  
  
A/N Thank you to all who reviewed.  
Vanessa- your comments helped, thus the rewrite of the first chapter.  
Furius- That's the best compliment I could get. My goal was to prove you can do this, and keep in character.  
This chapter is still slash-free. Next (and last) chapter will contain slash - be warned!  
  
  
  
The four companions had come before the Gates of Edoras, and the watchmen challenged them and seemed little satisfied with the answers. But the mounts of the travelers, proud horses of Rohan, they welcomed. Shadowfax permitted himself to be led with the others, and suffered the guards to handle him, but where Hasufel and Arod were tired and sweat-covered, he tossed his proud head, and seemed strong and fiery as if he was ready to start out afresh on a great journey. With the care of their mounts assured, one of the watchmen led them through the dark gates and toward the crown of the hill, where stood the Golden Hall.  
  
As the travelers came to the head of the stairs that led to the terrace of Meduseld, a guard spoke a welcome in the fashion of Rohan. He was goldenhaired, and mail-clad, and girt with longsword. Then he said, "I am Háma, the door warden. You may not come before the Lord of the Mark armed; it is his will that you lay weapons aside here." Aragorn stiffened slightly.   
  
Legolas saw the tension on the Man's face, and stepped forward first, unbuckling his baldric. He gave to the door warden his bow and quiver, saying, "keep these well, for they are gifts of the Lady of the Wood." He removed also his long white knife, and placed this beside the others.  
Aragorn stood, still hesitating and uneasy. Legolas thought that after the torment the man had endured, it must be a fearful thing to put aside his blade and go without weapons among armed men.   
  
Gandalf looked at Aragorn from under his bushy eyebrows, his gaze understanding but firm. "Our errand is pressing and time is short, we must not delay. We are all enemies of the one enemy, and so we should be friends among ourselves! But a king will have his way in his own hall. So although it is folly to concern yourself with this, I give you Glamdring, made by the elves long ago." And Gandalf laid the ancient sword down beside the bow and quiver of the Golden Wood. He looked expectantly at Aragorn.   
  
But Gimli came forward next and gave his axe into the door warden's hand, saying "keep my axe well, that it be ready when next there are orc-necks to hew." Hama smiled, and set the axe down leaning against the wall. At last Aragorn's hands went to his belt buckle and loosened it, and he took his sword and laid it beside Gimli's axe. Loth he seemed to let it rest there, but finally he straightened and turned toward the great doors.  
  
Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli stood to the side as Gandalf spoke with Théoden. A guest-house was prepared for the weary travelers, for the King had summoned all who could ride and bear weapons in Edoras, and they would not assemble until the morrow. Éowyn, sister-daughter to Théoden, in courtesy brought them drink and spoke with them of their travels. At last she bade them be at ease, and showed them a chamber in which to rest as Theoden and Gandalf conferred.   
  
Gimli slept, but Aragorn was restless. Legolas woke to see the Man standing by the window, and his face was haunted. "How is it with you now, Aragorn?"   
  
"I do not know," he sighed. " I am unhurt, the wounds of my body have healed."  
  
"But not all wounds?" Legolas asked. "I have seen you shed tears for Boromir. Have you no tears for yourself?"  
  
"I cannot shed them," Aragorn said. "And yet, I cannot rest easy. My mind is troubled when I chance to think of what has passed, and I find myself wondering, is this what women or nessi feel when they lie with us?"  
  
"Nay, you cannot believe that. You know that some among the neri, especially when young, lie together, and it is not like that for them either. It is the joy in each other that makes it a different thing, a blessing of the gods rather than a foul deed."   
  
"Have you known such a blessing, Legolas?"  
  
"I have known such, many long years ago. The friend I spoke of, who was captured by the orcs, he was a source of great joy to me."  
  
Aragorn turned his head away. "I knew such joy once. Now, under a lover's caress, I fear my mind would taunt me with the memory of a harsher hand. I would not go to my lady with any less than the joy she deserves. How can I bear to have her see me flinch from her touch?"   
  
Legolas looked sadly upon his friend. "I hope healing comes to you before journey's end. Is there nothing that comforts you?"  
Aragorn regarded him steadily. "Your friendship comforts me."  
  
The sun had barely risen when the horsemen began gathering before the gate. This day the éored would ride out, and the King himself would ride with his men. Éowyn, like to Éomer her brother, was fair and noble, but she stood as if carved of steel. No light was in her face as she gazed out on the éoreds assembling, and there was naked longing in her eyes. But women did not join the warriors on the field, and brave shieldmaiden as she was, she grieved to be left behind.  
  
Legolas saw how Éowyn watched Aragorn, and how her hand trembled after Aragorn took the cup of farewell from her fingers. And passing the stairs and leaving the gate, the companions waited for the King and his men to bring their mounts up, her eyes still upon them. Legolas followed Aragorn's eyes back toward the hall of Edoras, and the figure of Éowyn as she stood, still and straight after bidding them farewell. The elf glanced back at the face of his friend, but said nothing.  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, do not fear, I well know that is no answer for me. I would only feel myself further shamed by such a course," he said soberly. Then he laughed, "I do not need to learn about lust; any Man who has attained eighteen years of age has learned that lesson well enough. I would not be the cause of another's pain to salve my own. And yet Legolas," he said, "it is my deeds, my freedom to ride to battle, my command of men, that she truly craves for herself; she desires these far more than my affections. I merely seem admirable to her, as does a great captain to a young soldier." So saying, Aragorn turned Hasufel to where the mass of Riders waited, and Legolas followed, turning away from the piercing gaze of the Lady of Rohan.  
  
Then the King rode up with Éomer, and the horns were blown as the banners with the white horse on green rippled above the host. The spear points glittered as they set off, and Éomer rode with Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli in the van. Gandalf rode on Shadowfax before them all, and his robes gleamed as if they were the finest mail; and all eyes looked to the White Rider and his companions with hope as the host rode to Helm's Deep.  
  
The battle would be uneven, and cruel. The orc-host filled the coomb and spilled into the vale, a vast field of torches and seething motion under a darkening sky, heavy with the threat of storm. Arrows whistled over the parapet, and ladders were readied at the base of the Deeping Wall. Éomer had ordered his troops so that the men of Westfold were behind, and the Riders were on the wall. Many of the Riders felt despair in their hearts at the sight of so great a host, but their hands were upon their swords, and their bows were bent, waiting. The great storm broke over the Deep, lightening slashing through the sky to reveal the massed hordes beneath the walls, thunder punctuating the din of battle. And the Rohirrim knew that no quarter could be asked, or given. One did not negotiate with orcs.  
  
Ladders were swung up as the invaders scaled the walls, and the Men of Rohan were soon engaged at close quarters on the wall. Where the fighting was heaviest, there sooner or later one or more of the three companions would make their way to join the battle. And always out in front, there Aragorn's sword flickered, rallying the defenders. The cry of "Elendil!" heartened the weary men of Rohan again and again as the onslaught of orcs seemed tireless and unending. When the battle ebbed for a moment from where he stood, Legolas spared a glance at Aragorn. Legolas had feared that the orcs would awaken only rage and fury in Aragorn, and that all thought would flee; but it was not so. The Man fought as he ever had, focused, controlled, and deadly. He had still the stern aspect of command; the dignity of ancient kings that called others to his service, whether or not they were so bound. Éomer, as so many others on the walls that night, felt that call.  
  
As another wave of assailants swarmed up the ladders, an overwhelming roar split the air, and a blast shook the battlements. The Deeping Wall had been breached! The enemy poured through, orcs and wild men of Dunlending. Step by step the defenders were pushed back, those on the south side retreating to the caves, those on the north to the Rock, the already too small force split in half. Many fell or took great hurt covering the retreat. On the north side there was only a single stairway to escape the enemy and gain the Hornburg. Aragorn stood at the bottom of the steps, sword in hand, guarding the way for the retreating men of Rohan.   
Legolas knelt on the top step, bow taut, ready to shoot with his last arrow. "Aragorn!" he called. "There are none of ours left alive beyond the wall. Come up!"   
  
Aragorn retreated up the stairs, giving ground slowly, bright sword flashing in the torchlight as he hewed his assailants. Halfway up the stairs he thrust his blade through a large orc and then pushed him down upon the others behind with his foot. He turned and ran up the stairs, but stumbled in his weariness on the wet, slick rock. Orcs pushed past their dead comrade, yelling, ready to fall upon the man. He regained his feet as the orc reaching toward him, blade in hand, fell with an arrow in his throat, and the next behind him was stopped by a thrown knife. Aragorn reached the rear gate, which slammed shut behind him.  
  
He looked out over the Deep, and the writhing mass of Saruman's army that poured still through the breach in the wall. "Things go ill, my friend," he said as he turned to Legolas.  
  
"Ill enough, but not yet hopeless while we have you with us."  
  
He looked up at the elf, standing on the walls of the outer court. "Ever you have been a friend indeed, and given me hope in dark times. But now we must turn our thought to defense of the Hornburg. Come, I must speak to Théoden. Would that dawn were here!"  
  
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Nessi : female elf  
Neri: male elf  
  
  



	5. Comfort

Warning: This is the chapter to avoid if you don't want to read slash.  
  
  
Chapter 5 Healing  
  
  
As dawn neared, they defended still the caves, the rock, and the tower. They were not yet broken, although the precariousness of the defense was lost on none. Aragorn took counsel with the King who paced, fretfully, in his chamber in the tower.   
  
"What choice have we, bottled up behind these halls of stone, strong though they be?" the King asked. "I grieve to sit and do naught but wait for the enemy to overwhelm the defenses. Well may it be that this is my last riding, and I would it end on the field, with a spear or sword in my hand, and an escort of dead enemies before me to ease my way. I will lead my men to ride down upon them at sunrise."  
  
"I and my sword will be at your side, lord," said Aragorn. And he walked among the Riders as they readied for the last, desperate charge. All who could ride were mounted, and as the sky paled they rode out to face the hosts of Saruman.   
  
When the great gates opened, and the wild horns sounded, it seemed as if every hill sent echoes into the Coomb, and then resounded from North, South and West to hearten the riders. Forth they rode, prepared to sell their lives dearly, for they had scant hope to see sundown. The battle was fierce, but the proud Rohirrim on their great horses cut their way to the Dike, and there Théoden, with Aragorn beside him, stopped in wonder. The Coomb was no more. Where the grassy dale had been, now a dark forest stood. The orcs were mad with fear, caught between the Riders and the ominous trees whose branches tangled together, so that none could pass without stooping and entering the shadowed arches. In their fear they wailed and cast off their weapons, and charging the living branched barrier, they ran into the dark caverns beneath the bare trees, and none survived who passed into that wood.  
  
The clash of arms was over, and the healers took up their own battle. Éomer and Aragorn walked among the wounded, speaking words of encouragement and comfort and Aragorn helped the healers as he could, for he had been taught by Elrond. One Rider, moaning as he awaited the healers' attentions, clutched at Aragorn's arm as he walked past, seeking a few words to distract him from his pain. Legolas and Gimli stood nearby, and they saw the flinch, the effort it took for the Man to stand his ground, neither fleeing nor throwing the injured man's hand from him.  
  
The elf and dwarf regarded their comrade, pity and sorrow in their eyes. "He is strong", Gimli said, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.   
  
"The strongest of Men," Legolas agreed, "may the Valar grant it will be enough."  
  
Later, when one of the soldiers who had fought near him clasped Aragorn's shoulder from behind, only the elf's sharp eyes saw Aragorn's face tighten and his hand jerk to his scabbard. Legolas was instantly on his feet and moving toward the pair. Before he had taken three steps, the hand had fallen from the sword hilt, and the two were talking amiably. No one else seemed to have noticed.  
  
At last all that could be done, was done; and many who were weary with the hours of battle sought ease. Gimli insisted he could not bear to leave without again visiting the Glittering Caves. Legolas, laughing, had declined to accompany him. "What, master dwarf, would you revisit holes in the rock to remember where you fought, at bay?"   
  
"Holes!" snorted Gimli. "These are a marvel of Middle-earth, places of rare beauty, fair with the music of waterfalls and the glimmer of gems. I will not leave without gazing upon their glory again." He turned to Éomer. "Do the Men of the Mark see nothing of their beauty? Do they see aught beyond a place to fly at need?"   
  
Éomer smiled. "Very well, Gimli, you shall show me this beauty that my eyes have missed these years past. For though I fought there at your side, I had not the leisure to notice the glory you speak of. I will accompany you on this pilgrimage to the halls of stone. For if you will sit a horse, I can walk in a cave." In good cheer, Éomer and Gimli passed beyond the Deeping Wall, and made for the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.  
  
Legolas wandered to the stables and saw that Arod and Hasufel were well settled, while Aragorn went to rest in a chamber in the Hornburg.   
  
Once there, his thoughts strayed to Arwen. As so many times in the past years, he imagined her at his side; her beauty, her merry smile, her fair form. Her clean sweet scent lingered in his memory, and he imagined her skin under his fingertips, white velvet against the black satin of her hair. So it had felt to him in times of laughter and play amid the trees of Rivendell, when they sat together on the grass and she touched his cheek tenderly as he leaned close to press his lips to hers.   
  
He had longed for her during his travels in every way, his heart remembering her quiet companionship, his arms remembering her soft weight cradled within them, his chin remembering how her head tucked beneath to rest with her cheek against his breast. He had long since learned to master himself and be patient for that which he desired, whether the throne of his forefathers, or the pleasures of the marriage bed. Yet still he had ached for her, recalling tender moments that stole his breath.  
  
He shuddered then, as the hateful thoughts set a chill in his heart while sweat sprang to his brow, for in his mind's eye the delicate hand that touched his cheek had become scaly and coarse, the sweet, intoxicating scent overlaid with a foul reek. Alas, that the memory of the fairest thing in Middle-earth was now tainted, and a source of such delight was turned to a source of pain. He understood now the despair of Celebrian. Had Elrond truly known why she had no choice but to leave? Had she shuddered under his touch, not out of passion, but because every loving caress recalled only horror? And if Elrond had known, surely this had torn his heart to shreds, to see his beloved wife recoil from him. Was there no healing this side of the sea?  
  
When Legolas sought the guest-chamber, he saw that Aragorn was yet wakeful, and came to sit beside him. "You have neither rested nor slept. What dark thoughts sit upon you uneasy?" Aragorn's voice was full of torment.   
  
I have commanded men for years. I have commanded armies. How is it that now I cannot command myself?" he cried.  
  
"You think to command yourself to forget?" Legolas asked, gently.  
  
  
He reached out to place a consoling hand on the man's shoulder. Aragorn shuddered and his muscles became rigid under the light touch. His eyes looked like those of a hunted animal.  
  
Legolas drew back. "Time has not yet brought you healing. And you fear perhaps there is none?"   
  
"I have seen none. And I know not how to seek it," Aragorn replied, anguished.   
  
"You said once that my friendship brought you comfort. Perhaps it can bring healing as well." Then the blue eyes locked on his as a slender hand slowly reached forward again, and rested a fingersbredth from his own. Legolas regarded him steadily, a questioning look on his face.  
  
Aragorn sat very still, looking at the hand, but he did not withdraw. After a few moments he looked up at the face of his friend, his mouth suddenly dry. "I do not know if I can do this," he whispered.   
  
All was silent for a time, and then Aragorn spoke again, his voice low. "You offer me a great gift, one I do not know if I can accept. But certainly I cannot take it without knowing the cost to the giver."  
  
There was a soft, musical laugh. "The passion of men cannot be sustained for the lifetime of elves," he said. "I love you well, Aragorn, but it is not love such as you and Arwen will share. I mourn the hurt to your spirit and the shadow on your future joy. I would offer you such healing and comfort as I can." Looking at the elf's face, Aragorn could not doubt his sincerity.  
  
At last the Man nodded. He leaned forward as if forcing himself, and eyes open, pressed his lips briefly to the other's before moving back to sit on the pallet. He took a deep breath then, as if to steady himself for a difficult task.  
  
Legolas stood and put aside his weapons, so he bore neither bow, nor quiver, nor his long white knife. He put aside also the leather bracers and suede jerkin he habitually wore, and stood clad in a tunic that gleamed like pearl against the dark green leggings.  
  
He was beautiful.   
  
He was beautiful, as all elves were beautiful, for to gaze upon them was to see the glory of Ilúvatar reflected in a well-polished mirror. Their radiance shone in the eyes of mortals, dazzling many. But to Aragorn, raised in the House of Elrond, the radiance did not blind, but rather beckoned, familiar and comforting. Legolas came to his side.  
  
The slender, tapered hand was laid near to his, but did not touch him. He took a long breath and moved his own hand as if the inches were leagues and he pushed against a great weight. Their fingers touched. Legolas did not move. Aragorn's breathing slowed and gradually his muscles relaxed.  
  
Slowly, slowly, his hand covered the paler hand, and slid gently along the planes of wrist and forearm, and softly brushed up the length of the arm to the well-muscled shoulder and smooth neck. He reached for the clasps on the shimmering tunic. When nothing remained to keep his fingers from the soft skin, his palm traced a path down the center of the chest.  
  
Legolas did not stir, but his breath caught and then stilled, and he felt his heart quicken its pace. He waited. This was not for his pleasure, though pleasure indeed there was. This was for healing. He kept himself still and composed.  
  
The sound of that sudden indrawn breath lit a flame that allowed-- that encouraged-- Aragorn to go on. The strong fingers quested gently over limbs and chest, abdomen and groin; eliciting gasps in their passing. Each sigh from his friend's lips was a gift, each sudden motion beneath his skilled hands a reward that set his own pulse racing. And as he continued, the slender body made the small movements and sounds that betrayed pleasure, then the more abrupt ones that betrayed mounting need, and at the last, release and joy.  
  
Aragorn was caught up in the fire he had created, warmed by passion's reflected heat. He felt it burn within him, kindled by the pleasure he had given. When his friend lay spent, he drew back into himself. Although his mind still knew fear, his body demanded to receive attention. He looked at the flushed, luminous face and bent to bring their mouths together, their tongues dancing within. The fire ignited him, rousing desire, burning low in his belly. He straightened, and after a heartbeat, his hands moved to his borrowed clothing, and hesitantly he removed jerkin and tunic.   
  
Legolas' eyes followed his movements, admiring the strength and courage of the man. But still Legolas did not touch him, for surely all choice and control must belong to the one whose wounds had not yet healed.  
"I will do what you wish, as, and when, you will," he offered.   
  
Aragorn reached forward and took the hand once more, kissing it and pressing into the palm that moved to cup his cheek. "I would learn to trust again."  
  
Legolas sat up, and moving slowly, eyes ever on the face of his friend, slid his palm along the dark-shadowed jaw and neck. His hand stroked the dark hair softly. "And I would learn what pleases you." The pale hand trailed up the inside of the arm, and then wandered to collarbone and chest; bringing ragged breaths in its wake as the slow, teasing strokes found ever more sensitive skin. He smiled, knowing the shudders under his hand were not of fear now, but rather born of desire. When next Legolas paused to ease all barriers from his way, he heard a moan, and the hips below curved up to meet his hand, hardened flesh seeking again the rough callus of the archer's palm. He turned mouth as well as hands to the task of pleasing, and soft blond hair trailed over hip and thigh.  
  
Dark thoughts had been driven away by the delicate fingers and knowing lips. The touch of these left room only for the aching need at Aragorn's center. And when that need and the touch that fed it had built to unbearable levels, low groans turned to louder cries, and all thought ceased, swept away by the wave of pleasure that engulfed him.  
  
When he could think again, he knew that it was the pleasure he gave rather than received that was the greatest gift. That he could take pleasure himself was a relief, and a promise, but it was less to him than the knowledge that he was able to give.   
  
"Le hannon an ant hen, a mellon vell," Aragorn said, strength in his voice.  
  
"Sen ant an anim a an Arwen i anim mell," Legolas answered, and kissed him softly.  
  
Loosened and relaxed for the first time in days, Aragorr stretched, rose and washed himself, then lay quiet in the arms of his friend. Legolas looked down at him and saw Aragorn's face was at peace, sleeping, the fires banked. He spread his cloak to cover his friend warmly, and sang softly so as not to awaken him.  
  
  
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"Le hannon an ant hen, a mellon vell."  
Thank you for this gift, dear friend.  
"Sen ant an anim a an Arwen i anim mell."  
It is a gift to me as well, and to Arwen who is dear to me.   
  
(I did my best on the Sindarin, but I am far from comfortable with it. Corrections cheerfully accepted.)  
  
  
For anyone who has enjoyed this, thank also AfterEver and Naturluver who took the time to make wonderful comments. A good betareader is an author's best friend!  
  



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